


Forgotten Sketches

by MermaidWhispers



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Death, Heartbreak, Idiots in Love, Lavellan/Solas Angst (Dragon Age), Loss, Lost Love, Love, M/M, Post-Dragon Age: Inquisition
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-10
Updated: 2020-11-10
Packaged: 2021-03-08 23:20:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 884
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27494869
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MermaidWhispers/pseuds/MermaidWhispers
Summary: There are loss and destruction everywhere he goes. Lost to others and possibly lost to himself. He stumbles amidst dying echoes. One thing keeps him grounded, the one thing that also tears him apart.
Relationships: Fen'Harel | Solas/Male Lavellan, Male Lavellan/Solas (Dragon Age)
Kudos: 4





	Forgotten Sketches

**Author's Note:**

> A moment in time for our main characters. A short story that simply materialized in my mind one day. More notes at the end. Everything in italics is in elven.  
> Please enjoy! :) 
> 
> ps.  
> Proofread only by me! Wee! Sorry for any errors!

The light of the evening began to dim and the sky became a sea of vivid reds and oranges. There was a small campfire built in the torn down Skyhold gardens. Large stone columns cast their shadows in the dying light, watching over the garden like silent sentinels. A pleasant smell of roasted carrots, parsnips, and potatoes drifted up into the air. A tall figure sat crossed-legged by the fire; a small contraption of metal wire stood over some coal that gently sparked and roasted the vegetables atop it. The man, his face illuminated by the flames – black hair and green eyes so pale they almost looked like glass, a strong nose ever so slightly bent from a previous injury, scrapes and scratched on his cheeks – poked with a stick at his vegetables, released a soft sigh and looked up at the now dark sky. The man stirred and bristled as soft barefoot steps padded across the garden courtyard and stopped some ways behind him. 

“You left this on the divan in the rotunda,” a soft voice said. The sitting man relaxed his posture but didn’t turn around. 

“You took the liberty to look inside?” His voice was low, rich, and quiet, a strange juxtaposition to his slight frame. 

“In the event that my curiosity had gotten the better of me and I did look inside, my impression of the contents would be very surprising.” The other man answered. 

“Why?” the tall man said simply. He moved to remove the vegetables off of his makeshift grill and place them on a plate. Long fingers reached into a small pouch and a sprinkle of seasoning landed on the food. 

“Simply an observation of talent I did not know our Inquisitor possessed.” There was a smile hidden in the man’s words as well as it was hidden in the darkness of the night. “You seem to have a fondness for -” the man hesitated and shifted from leg to leg the leaves beneath his bare feet crunching as he did so. 

“Don’t start being shy now” the Inquisitor said. 

“The mortal form” the other man answered. There was something cold in his words this time. The tone of his voice pricked like invisible needles. 

A low rumbling laugh escaped the taller man as he placed a square of parsnip in his mouth. He chewed silently not making any effort to reply quickly, or perhaps reply at all. The silence stretched and time could have come to a halt with how still the garden became. The barely-there wind died down, the birds grew quiet. The only sound was the gentle crackle of the fire, save for the stars and moon, their only form of illumination. 

“Is that jealousy I sense?” The Inquisitor finally asked. He placed the plate down on the ground leaving some pieces of food behind. Slowly he untangled his legs and in one swift movement stood to full height. “Did you expect to see your face on one of those pages?” He finally turned, pale green eyes settling on the man in front of him. 

“I-” the man took a step back and if it wasn’t for the darkness the Inquisitor would have seen his face, composed and serious, colour from embarrassment. “That is not what I meant to imply. It is none of my business who you choose.” 

The inquisitor smiled and reached for the notebook in the other man’s hands. He flipped through the pages as faces of his smiling companions stared up at him. Cassandra. Dorian. Iron Bull and his Chargers. Josephine. Cullen. There were more, faces and people he saw in cities, in the valley. Those who have already died and those who have lived. His notebook was filled with sketches save for the last page. It had been empty. 

The garden fell silent again and the fire stopped crackling. 

_“Why do you return to this memory vhenan? What do you hope to find when you never finish it? The conclusion is my favourite part.”_

_“How did you become so good at controlling these?”_

_“I am just a memory vhenan, the illusion of control is what you grant me. What you have always granted me.”_

His voice was distant, almost an echo. But even the echo of distant memory was drenched in pain. 

Solas woke up with a start. The skylight in his bed chambers let in the soft light that danced across white walls and bounced off of silvery ornamentation that adorned the room. 

He sat up running an impatient hand over his face and growled into his palm. In his other hand, he clutched a leather-bound notebook tattered at the edges and wrinkled from the embrace of time. Slowly he opened the notebook to the last page. The outline of a faded charcoal sketch was still visible. A man placing the skull of a wolf on his head. His eyes were fierce and savage. His lips turned up into a wry smile. Long fingers adorned with rings and from his neck hung a small wooden amulet. He traced his fingers over its faded form. 

Delicate elven writing, sharp and swift, inked into the paper beside the sketch.

_I did not have to choose vhenan..._

He dug the heels of his hands into his eyes and threw his head back. 

**Author's Note:**

> This story came to me when I regarded the fact that Solas is an artist. The story started to take shape when I considered that perhaps Solas would be the type of artist that hid his feelings in art that was meant to document first and convey emotion second. I thought he would be an interesting match for an inquisitor that sketched. Sketching can be very immediate and very spontaneous. And while this story doesn't go into the juxtaposition of the two forms of art in my head it is an interesting pairing of personality. Stoic and serious vs. spontaneous. 
> 
> Please let me know if you liked this and if you'd like to read more. This story is simply a moment in time but it could very well have a beginning, middle, and end.


End file.
